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4.41478 – Survey of Linguistic Theories: Semester 1, 2008 ~ Lecture 3 1

Lecture 3: Ancient Greek Philosophers

I. The Sophists

Protagoras (490 – 420 B.C.)

o Sources of information: Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes

o Protagoras‟ doctrines:

Orthoepia

Man-Measure statement

Agnosticism (Agnostic – „a person who is not sure whether God exists or not‟

from the Oxford Advanced Learner‟s Dictionary)

Prodicus, Gorgias , Cratylus, Hippias, etc.

II. Socrates (470 – 399 B.C.)

The Sophists

The meaning of the word sophist (Gr. sophistes meaning "wise-ist," or one who 'does' wisdom, i.e.

who makes a business out of wisdom; cf. sophós, "wise man", cf. also wizard) has changed greatly

over time. Initially, a sophist was someone who gave sophia (wisdom) to his disciples. It was a highly

respectful term, applied to early philosophers such as the Seven Wise Men of Greece.

In the second half of the 5th century B.C., and especially at Athens, "sophist" came to be applied to a

number of highly respected thinkers/traveling teachers who employed debate and rhetoric to teach

public speaking, grammar, linguistic theory, moral and political doctrines, doctrines about god and

nature and the origins of man, literary analysis and criticism, mathematics, and physical theories of the

universe, etc. Due to the importance of such skills in the litigious (quick to argue or sue in court) social

life of Athens, practitioners of such skills often commanded very high fees.

Protagoras is generally regarded as the first sophist. Other prominent Sophists were Prodicus,

Gorgias, Hippias, Antiphon, Cratylus, etc. Many sophists held a relativistic view on cognition (the

act of learning) and knowledge. Their philosophy questioned the validity of religion, law and ethics.

The Sophists‟ practice of taking fees, and their perceived lack of moral principles, eventually led to a

loss of respect for the Sophists.

Unfortunately, most of the Sophists‟ original texts have not survived: we know about them and their

ideas from Plato's writings. Now, Plato‟s teacher, Socrates, was critical of the Sophists, so we should

take Plato‟s accounts with a pinch of salt (they may not be accurate). Eventually, the Sophists were

accused of immorality by the state.

Let us now take a brief look at what we know of what a few of them: Protagoras, Prodicus, Gorgias,

Antiphon, and Hippias thought (and taught) about Language.

The first great Sophist was Protagoras (c. 490-420 BC). He was more modest than some of the later

Sophists, and is treated respectfully by Plato in his dialogues. He is credited with being the first to

distinguish sentence types: 4, according to some sources (prayer, question, answer, and command), and

7, according to others (narration, question, answer, command, report, prayer and invitation). He also,

according to Aristotle, distinguished grammatical genders and tenses.

Protagoras is most famous for the doctrine that "man is the measure of all things" - probably a

generalization from the fact that success in public speaking depends on the reaction of others. Plato

claimed that Protagoras believed all sensory perceptions to be true for the person who feels them. This

doctrine is known as "Protagorean relativism."


The earlier Greek philosophers made a clear distinction between sense and thought, between

perception and reason, and had believed that the truth is to be found, not by the senses, but by reason.

The teaching of Protagoras rests on denying this distinction.

Protagoras is also known for his agnosticism (the claim that we cannot know anything about the gods):

"Concerning the gods, I have no means of knowing whether they exist or not or of what sort they may

be. Many things prevent knowledge including the obscurity of the subject and the brevity of human

life."

Prodicus, a disciple of Protagoras, was born c. 450 BC, and is known as the "precursor of Socrates"

(he was still living in 399 BC, when Socrates died). He main contribution was in semantics, on ho9w

to distinguish synonyms from true synonyms (real or apparent synonyms).

Gorgias (c. 485-380 BC), like Protagoras, is treated respectfully by Plato (see the Gorgias). He had a

very polished style of speaking that made him very popular. He was among the first to recommend and

use figures of speech (i.e., antithesis, assonance, analogy, repetition, metaphor, pun, etc.) in writing

and narrative. He did not like the term sophist, he preferred to be called a rhetorician. He taught his

disciples the art of persuasion, "to give them such absolute readiness for speaking, that they should be

able to convince their audience independently of any knowledge of the subject." So Gorgias presented

language, not as a means of grasping reality, but as a tool for persuading and manipulating others:

"The power of speech has the same relation to the order of the soul as drugs have to the nature of

bodies. For as different drugs expel different humors from the body, and some put an end to sickness

and others to life, so some words cause grief, others joy, some fear, others render their hearers bold,

and still others drug and bewitch the soul through an evil persuasion . . ." (Praise of Helen)

Gorgias’ philosophy can be summed up with:

1. Nothing Exists: If anything is, it must have had a beginning.

Its being must have arisen either from being, or from not being.

If it arose from being, there is no beginning; if it arose from not being, this is impossible, since something cannot

arise out of nothing.

Therefore, nothing exits.

2. If anything existed, it could not be known Sense perception differs in different people and even in the same person.

Therefore, the object as it is in itself cannot be known. 3. If anything did exist, and could be known, it could not be communicated

The 3rd

proposition follows the same identification of knowledge with sensation, since sensation “cannot be

communicated."

Gorgias reportedly starved himself to death.

Another important Sophist was Antiphon (c. 480-411 BC). He opposed nomos (human law or custom)

to phusis (nature). He claimed that many laws and unwritten customs, such as honoring those of noble

birth, are "contrary to nature." He also argued that it is more beneficial for oneself (though not

necessarily for others!) to obey nature rather than human law, provided one knows how to defend

oneself well in the law-courts (and that is when mastery of language and logic comes in)!

Hippias was born about the middle of the 5th century BC and was thus a younger contemporary of

Protagoras. He was a man of great versatility and won the respect of his fellow-citizens. He knew


Socrates and other leading thinkers. He claimed to be an authority on all subjects, and lectured (always

for a lot of money!) on poetry, grammar, history, politics, archaeology, mathematics and astronomy.

He boasted that he was more popular than Protagoras, and was prepared at any moment to deliver an

impromptu address on any subject to the assembly at Olympia.

Certainly, he was an able orator, but it is also known that he was superficial. His aim was not to give

knowledge, but to provide his pupils with the weapons of argument.

However, it is true that Hippias did a real service to Greek literature by insisting on the meaning of

words, the value of rhythm and literary style. He also made a detailed study of the sound system of

the Greek language. He forms the connecting link between the first great sophists, Protagoras and

Prodicus, and the innumerable eristics who brought their name into disrepute.

Conclusion:

The Sophists were at first widely admired. Eventually they came into disrepute because of their high

fees and the radical nature of what many of them taught. People were particularly suspicious of their

claim to be able to teach a student how "to make the weaker argument stronger" (Protagoras).

Though Sophists did not agree on everything, all their ideas seem to revolve around the idea that there

is no Absolute Truth. Every man has his own truth. This probably has something to do with Plato and

Aristotle giving them a bad name. They said that Sophists were not genuine seekers of the truth and

called them quibblers and cheats in arguments. This general belief is responsible for the meanings of

"sophist" and "sophistry" today.

Socrates (June 4, 469 – May 7, 399 B.C.) was perhaps the first philosopher to significantly

challenge the Sophists.

According to ancient manuscripts, Socrates' father was a sculptor, and his mother - a midwife. He was

married to Xanthippe, traditionally considered a shrew, and had three sons, all quite young at the time

of his death. It is unclear what exactly Socrates did for a living. He did not work, and devoted himself

only to discussing philosophy, which he thought to be the most important art and occupation. Some

alleged, that Socrates was paid by his students, and that he was even running a school of sophistry with

a friend of his. Plato, however, wrote that Socrates never accepted money for teaching (unlike the

Sophists). Socrates did not charge for his teaching, or claim to be wise. He would engage men in

conversation about justice. Socrates claimed to have a daimonion, a small daimon that warned him

against mistakes but never told him what to do or coerced him into following it. He claimed that his

daimon exhibited greater accuracy than any of the forms of divination practised at the time. It is also

possible that Socrates survived off the generosity of his wealthy and powerful friends.

Socrates lived during the time of the transition from the height of the Athenian Empire to its decline

after its defeat by Sparta and its allies in the Peloponnesian War. At a time when Athens was seeking

to stabilize and recover from its humiliating defeat, the Athenian public court was induced by three

leading public figures to try Socrates for impiety and for corrupting the youth of Athens. The Greeks at

that time thought of gods and goddesses were protectors of particular cities. Athens, for instance, is

named after its protecting goddess Athena. The defeat of Athens in the Peloponnesian War was

interpreted as Athena judging the city for not being pious. Socrates, who was called “Gadfly” because

he questioned everything (including the gods), was blamed for the defeat in the war (the last thing

Athens needed was more punishment from Athena for one man inciting its citizens to question her or

the other gods).


In the Apology, Socrates insists that this is a false charge. According to the version of his defense

speech presented in Plato's Apology, Socrates' life as the "gadfly" of Athens began when his friend

Chaerephon asked the oracle at Delphi if anyone was wiser than Socrates; the Oracle responded

negatively. Socrates, interpreting this as a riddle, set out to find men who were wiser than he was. He

questioned the men of Athens about their knowledge of good, beauty, and virtue. Finding that they

knew nothing and yet believing themselves to know much, Socrates came to the conclusion that he was

wise only in so far as he knew that he knew nothing. Socrates' superior intellect made the prominent

Athenians he publicly questioned look foolish, turning them against him and leading to accusations of

wrongdoing. Socrates was accused at his trial, according to Plato, of being a Sophist (this may have

made Plato so anti-Sophists). Despite Socrates' brilliant and moving defence speech, he was found

guilty, and sentenced to death by drinking a cup of hemlock.

The Socratic Method

Perhaps his most important contribution to Western thought is Socrates‟ dialectic method of inquiry,

known as the Socratic Method, which he largely applied to the examination of key moral concepts

such as the Good and Justice, concepts used constantly without any real definition. It was first

described by Plato in the Socratic Dialogues. In this method, a series of questions are posed to help a

person or group to determine their underlying beliefs and the extent of their knowledge. The Socratic

method is a negative method of hypothesis elimination, in that better hypotheses are found by steadily

identifying and eliminating those which lead to contradictions. It was designed to force one to examine

one‟s own beliefs and the validity of such beliefs. In fact, Socrates once said, "I know you won't

believe me, but the highest form of Human Excellence is to question oneself and others"

Socrates seems to have often stated that he “knew only that he knew nothing.” Socrates may have

believed that wrongdoing was a consequence of ignorance, that those who did wrong knew no better.

The one thing Socrates consistently claimed to have knowledge of was "the art of love" which he

connected with the concept of "the love of wisdom", i.e., philosophy. He never actually claimed to be

wise, only to understand the path that a lover of wisdom must take in pursuing it.

Socrates matched those who were unsuited for philosophy with Sophists. For his part as a

philosophical interlocutor, he led his respondent to a clearer conception of wisdom, although he

claimed that he was not himself a teacher. His role, he claimed, was that of a midwife, explaining that

he was himself barren of theories, but that he knew how to bring the theories of others to birth and

determine whether they are worthy or mere "wind eggs." He pointed out that midwives are barren due

to age, and women who have never given birth are unable to become midwives; a truly barren woman

would have no experience or knowledge of birth and would be unable to separate the worthy infants

from those that should be left on the hillside to be exposed. To judge this, the midwife must have

experience and knowledge of what she is judging.

We will learn more about Socrates and some of the sophists through reading excerpts of Plato‟s

dialogues later this week.

References

Prof. Otto Nekitel‟s Lecture Notes (14.4129 Survey of Linguistic Theories) – 2001.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophist

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prodicus

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippias

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socrates

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophist

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prodicus

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippias

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socrates


Appendix

Cratylus (Κρατσλος) is the name of a dialogue by Plato, written in approx. 360 BC. In the dialogue,

Socrates is asked by two men, Cratylus and Hermogenes, to tell them whether names are

"conventional" or "natural", that is, whether language is a system of arbitrary signs or whether words

have an intrinsic relation to the things they signify. In doing this, Cratylus became one of the earliest

philosophical texts of the Classical Greek period to deal with matters of etymology and linguistics.

When discussing how a word would relate to its subject, he compares the original creation of a word to

the work of an artist. An artist uses colour to express the essence of his subject in a painting. In much

the same way, the creator of words uses letters containing certain sounds to express the essence of a

word's subject. There is a letter that is best for soft things, one for liquid things, and so on. He

comments, "This would be the most perfect state of language."

The counter argument is that names have come about due to custom and convention. They do not

express the essence of their subject, and so they can be swapped with something unrelated if those who

use the word were to agree upon it.

The line between the two perspectives is often blurred. During more than half of the dialogue, Socrates

makes guesses at Hermogenes' request as to where names and words have come from. These include

the names of the Olympian gods, personified deities, and many words that describe abstract concepts.

Many of the words which Socrates uses as examples may have come from an idea originally linked to

the name, but have changed over time. Those of which he cannot find a link, he often assumes have

come from foreign origins or have changed so much as to lose all resemblance to the original word. He

states, "names have been so twisted in all manner of ways, that I should not be surprised if the

old language when compared with that of now in use would appear to us to be a barbarous

tongue."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cratylus_(dialogue)

The Sophists on Correct Speech

Michael Gagarin -- University of Texas

The issue of “correctness,” in language, (or put differently, the status of established norms of usage)

has been a concern of all who think about language down to the present day. The first people to raise

this issue were the sophists. This is well known, and several studies have surveyed the sophists‟

writings on this topic (e.g. Classen, Kerferd), but there is much more to say on the topic. My specific

concern is to try to understand how thinkers like Protagoras, Prodicus and Antiphon used concepts of

“correctness” (orthos, orthotês) to mediate between an absolute standard corresponding to some sort of

natural essence of things (physis) -- which is sometimes opposed to established practice (nomos) -- and

a more relativistic approach which acknowledges that the correctness of any logos can only be

determined by human beings and is thus negotiable.

I plan to begin by setting the background with a very brief survey of the range of writings by different

sophists that are relevant to this issue and also by looking very briefly at uses of orthos in other fifth-

century texts. I will then focus on a few particularly illustrative examples -- Protagoras‟ attempts to

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cratylus_(dialogue


determine orthos logos in light of his specific criticisms of Homer, Antiphon‟s reflections on judging

between opposed logoi in the Second Tetralogy, and the discussion of the natural basis of language in

Plato‟s Cratylus (and elsewhere), that clearly echoes work of the sophists.

I hope to bring out the complexity of the sophists‟ views on these issues, and if I have time, I will very

briefly suggest how their views set the groundwork for later work of Plato, Aristotle and beyond.

http://www.camws.org/meeting/2004/abstracts2004/gagarin.html

Kata Ton Orthotaton Logon: Correct Argument in the Sophists and Early Orators

Michael Gagarin

Rethymno, October 29, 2004

Like many of you, I‟m sure, in my teaching I sometimes confront new standards of language use

among my students. I was taught grammar as a matter of right and wrong. “Between you and me” was

right; “between you and I” was simply wrong. Such rules, I understood, were absolute and non-

negotiable. We all know, of course, that the rules change over time, and that the authority of

grammatical rules waxes and wanes. Today in the US, the attitudes seem to be set by our President,

whose ignorance of and lack of concern for correct speech actually appeals to a substantial segment of

the population. And increasingly my students question how I can insist that a certain usage of theirs is

wrong. I find myself beginning to feel sympathy for traditionalists in Greece who reacted with outrage

at the questioning of common rules and assumptions about language by the new intellectuals in the

second half of the fifth-century. Many who listened to the Older Sophists must have accepted without

question, and probably without thinking, that certain ways of speaking were simply right, and others

wrong. The sophists were out to change that.

As in so many other areas, the sophists were the first to offer an explicit challenge to traditional rules

about logos. I want to look carefully at this challenge, and in particular, I want to see why they

fastened on a standard of orthotês, or correctness, how they used that standard, and how others reacted

to it. As we shall see, the standard of correctness sometimes found itself in competition … with a

standard of truth, though the two could coexist in the orators. Let me begin, then, by considering the

use of orthos among the sophists.

The various uses of orthos are well illustrated in a well-known scene in Plato‟s Protagoras. After an

intermission midway through the dialogue, Protagoras resumes the discussion by questioning Socrates

about poetry. He prefaces his questions by stating,

“I think the greatest part of education for a man is to be clever about poems; by that I mean he is able

to grasp which of a poet‟s lines are composed correctly (orthôs), and which are not, he knows how to

distinguish them, and he can give a reason when questioned” (338e7-339a1).

Protagoras then quotes the opening of a poem of Simonides and asks whether Socrates thinks it was

composed “well and correctly” (kalôs kai orthôs). “Very well and correctly,” answers Socrates. But

Protagoras then cites lines from later in the poem which appear to contradict the earlier lines and

concludes that either the opening of the poem or the later stanza must be incorrect (ouk orthôs). In

desperation, Socrates asks Prodicus to find a correction (epanorthôma) using his special mousikê or

talent with language. Prodicus‟ mouskiê technê is, of course, his ability to distinguish correctly

http://www.camws.org/meeting/2004/abstracts2004/gagarin.html


between near synonyms. Moreover, when Prodicus‟ correction turns out to produce a worse error than

the one that needed correcting in the first place, Socrates, in an obvious parody of Prodicus‟ special

expertise, proposes that Simonides is criticizing Pittacus for distinguishing the meanings of words

incorrectly (ouk orthôs, 341c). When this line of argument also fails, Socrates gives his final

interpretation, which shows, among other things, that the word “truly” is in its correct place in the

sentence.

This discussion illustrates some of the many ways in which the new intellectuals had begun to use the

term orthos and its compounds in connection with language. Of course, Plato may be misrepresenting

the arguments of Protagoras or Prodicus or Socrates, but the general historical accuracy of the

arguments and positions represented in the scene is supported by other evidence that both Protagoras

and Prodicus were interested in correct speech. Plato tells us elsewhere (Crat. 384b, Euthyd. 277e),

that Prodicus taught the correct use of words (onomatôn orthotês), and the speech that Plato puts in his

mouth earlier in Protagoras 337a-c, distinguishing four pairs of close synonyms, would hardly have a

point if the historical Prodicus had not done something of the sort.

Protagoras‟ interest in correct speech is also well attested elsewhere in Plato, for instance in Cratylus

391c where his interests are said to have included orthotês [ i.e. tôn onomatôn] and in Phaedrus 267c

where he is said to have written on orthoepeia. We also have a report in Plutarch (Pericles 36.3), citing

the fifth-century “historian” Stesimbrotus, that “When an athlete unintentionally struck Epitimus the

Pharsalian with a javelin and killed him, Protagoras spent an entire day with Pericles puzzling over

whether one should believe that the javelin or the javelin-thrower or those who arranged the contest

were more to blame, according to the most correct account (kata ton orthotaton logon).” Interestingly,

Antiphon treats what is apparently the same case in his Second Tetralogy. I‟ll come back to Antiphon

later, but first I want to look more closely at the sophists‟ use of orthos: Why did Protagoras and

Prodicus use this word to describe correct speech? And what does their use of the term reveal about

their views on language and linguistic orthodoxy?

First, some background. From Homer on, orthos is the most common adjective for “straight.” The

adverb ithy is sometimes used in the sense of “straight forward, straight ahead,” but if a person stands

straight or a line or a path is straight, the word is orthos. By the fifth century, however, metaphorical

uses of orthos have begun to predominate. For Pindar, a messenger can be orthos -- “accurate” or

“true” (O. 6.90); surgery can make a man‟s body orthos, or “sound” (P. 3.53); and a mind (noos) can

be orthos, or “upright” (P. 10.68). Metaphorical uses are especially common in tragedy and Herodotus.

The latter speaks of the Delphians being orthos (“correct”) in their ascription of a vase to Theodorus of

Samos (1.51) and Croesus being ouk orthos (“wrong”) in blaming Apollo (1.91). The dative orthôi

logôi means “in truth” -- as when Demaratus asks his mother, “Who is my father orthôi logôi?” -- that

is, “tell me straight who my father is” (6.68). In this sense, an orthos logos is a statement of fact that is

correct, true, or accurate, and the standard of correctness or accuracy is for the most part objective.

Herodotus implies that Demaratus‟ mother knows as a matter of objective fact who his father is. Note,

however, that there is already a tendency here for orthos to refer to some kind of speech act -- a

message, an ascription, blame, or information.

There is one passage in Herodotus where we can see even broader possibilities for expanding the

meaning of orthos. This comes in the story of Deioces, the first king of the Medes. Before becoming

king, Deioces devoted himself to justice (dikaiosynê) and gained a reputation as the best settler of

disputes for the villagers in his area. He did this by judging kata ton orthon -- correctly, rightly, justly.

From everything we know about Greek judicial procedure, it is clear that Deioces‟ superiority did not


lie primarily in his ability to discern or state the true facts of a case or to quote laws accurately; rather,

his talent lay in finding a fair or just resolution to a dispute, one that was perceived to be fair by the

community. Kata ton orthos must then refer to Deioces‟ judgment -- his decisions were just or fair in

that they were generally accepted or recognized as fair by the disputants and the rest of the community.

Now, there is a precedent for this use in the metaphorical use of ithys -- “straight-forward” in epic. The

main example comes in the trial scene on the shield of Achilles in Iliad 18. Here two litigants plead

before a group of elders and an award is given to the elder who “speaks his judgment most

straightforwardly, most correctly” (dikên ithyntata eipoi, 18.508). Here too, just as with Deioces‟

judging kata ton orthon, settling a dispute ithyntata is a matter of fairness or correct judgment, not

simply factual truth. In these legal contexts, both orthos and ithys designate a negotiable and

problematic standard of justice that is to some extent subjectively determined by the community. At

the same time, both terms imply that this standard is also in some sense an objective standard of

straightness or correctness.

Another indication that this standard of correctness must have an element of subjectivity is the fact that

the Greeks spoke of some judgments as most correct (ithyntata, orthotatos). This suggests that in any

given situation, a correct verdict was a relative concept: one verdict could be more correct than

another, or could even be the most correct. Thus, in a legal context, correctness is a more complex

standard than it is, say, in determining who is truly Demaratus‟ father. We see then, that by the time of

the sophists, orthos had already developed a broad range of meaning, from objective accuracy to

subjective good judgment. And it was this broad range (I believe) that made the term particularly

appealing to the sophists, and particularly to Protagoras.

It‟s not clear which sophist first applied the term to a linguistic matter, but my guess is that it was

Prodicus. Even though he was a generation younger than Protagoras, linguistic concerns seem to play

a larger role in Prodicus‟ work, and he seems to have adhered closely to an objective sense of orthos.

In On the Correctness of Names he distinguished between near synonyms, and the examples of this

skill reported by Plato‟s (Protagoras 337a-c) appear reasonably objective: impartially does differ from

equally, debating from quarreling, esteem from praise, and enjoyment from pleasure in the ways

Prodicus explains, and his judgment on these matters seems essentially objective. To be sure, Socrates

later (341c) leads Prodicus to conclude that difficult (chalepon) means bad (kakon), which is patently

absurd, but when challenged, Socrates quickly rescinds his proposal, calling it a joke. In the end, this

false definition only reinforces the view that Prodicus‟ definitions accord with what “all of us know,”

as Protagoras puts it (341d). Thus, Prodicus‟ judgments were essentially objective, and the broader,

problematic uses of orthos were the work of Protagoras.

We do not know the contents of Protagoras‟ work on Correct Speech (Orthoepeia), but it probably

included discussion of the proper gender of nouns, which is parodied in Aristophanes‟ Clouds, and of

the proper use of moods. Protagoras developed his views on these subjects through criticism of

Homer. According to Aristotle (Soph. Elench. 173b), he said that “wrath” (mênis -- the first word of

the Iliad) was masculine and that it was wrong to use a feminine adjective, oulomenên, to modify it, as

Homer does in line 2 of the poem. According to Aristotle (Poetics 19), Protagoras also criticized

Homer because in the same sentence he gives a command to the Muse (“Sing, Muse”) when he thinks

he is uttering a prayer. If, as is likely, Protagoras used orthos in criticizing Homeric usage, he probably

wanted to suggest that grammatical issues like these are objective, factual matters. He was undoubtedly

aware, however, that his assertions about correctness and incorrectness were not only not objective, but

would provoke strong objections from many (if not most) in his audience. This raises the question how

seriously he took these assertions about Homer, and what his purpose was in making them.


We find a broader sense of orthos, though still grounded in objectivity, when Protagoras criticizes

Simonides‟ poem by arguing that two stanzas are contradictory, and therefore one of them must be

incorrect. Objectively, a poet cannot truly make contradictory assertions. But since the points that are

judged to be contradictory are concerned with human virtue and its attainment, the discussion also

quickly moves to broader, moral issues that go beyond the specific question of logical contradiction.

Using orthos for these issues, too, suggests that standards of moral judgment, which would normally

be considered subjective, are in some sense reducible to objective rules of logic.

The broadest use of orthos we find in Protagoras is the report that he and Pericles spent a day arguing

about who was responsible for the accidental death of someone hit by a javelin, “according to the most

correct account” (kata ton orthotaton logon). This expression, used here in a quasi-judicial context,

recalls Herodotus‟ kata ton orthon and Homer‟s dikên ithyntata. As I noted in those two examples,

finding the straightest account or judgment in a legal situation involves negotiating issues of fairness

and good judgment, not the mere ascertainment of factual truth, though the word “straight,” whether

ithys or orthos, also suggests that a straight judgment is in some sense objectively correct. So when

Protagoras used the expression kata ton orthotaton logon in this context, he, too, probably intended to

suggest that in this case matters of fairness or justice could be correctly (or more correctly) decided by

some objective standard. The story also suggests that a straighter, more correct judgment is one that is

reached through a process of discussion or debate. And we actually have an example of just such a

debate on this same issue in the Second Tetralogy composed by another contemporary sophist,

Antiphon.

Antiphon’s Second Tetralogy consists of four speeches, two on each side. The prosecution accuses

the thrower of the javelin of what we might call negligible homicide, but the defense blames the victim

for causing his own death through negligence. Both litigants appeal to a standard of truth (alêtheia),

not straightness or correctness. The defense insists that although the accused “did throw [the javelin],

he did not kill anyone according to the truth of what he did” … . The plaintiff responds by asserting

that the facts are clear, and asking the jurors not “to think that the truth of what was done is really

false” … . Interestingly, in its final speech, the defense claims that this apparently objective “truth of

what was done” can only be discovered through words, logoi. And he adds that the jurors, “must

examine the facts (ta prachthenta) impartially (isôs), for their truth is only discernible from what has

been said” (3.4.1-2). Antiphon thus establishes truth rather than correctness as the standard of

judgment in this case, but like Protagoras‟ correctness, Antiphon‟s truth is also problematic: though

both sides try to make it appear objective, here, too, truth can only be determined through a process of

verbal negotiation, here involving opposed logoi.

Thus, Antiphon argues for “the truth of what was done” as the standard of judgment, as distinct from

Protagoras‟ standard of correct argument. The two approaches are only slightly divergent, but the

difference is significant. In late-fifth-century texts, orthos is almost always used of the realm of logos

…, to include not just speech and argument, but thoughts, beliefs, decisions, and the like. Alêthês, on

the other hand, is generally used of facts, actions, events -- the realm of erga or pragmata. One could

talk of speaking correctly or speaking the truth, t’alêthes, but the former directs the listener‟s attention

to the speech or argument itself -- is he speaking correctly? -- whereas the latter directs it to the content

of the speech -- is what is being said true?

To illustrate the difference, consider the sentence in the same defendant‟s speech that follows the last

statement I just quoted about the truth only being discernible from what has been said. He continues,

“for my part, if I have said anything false (pseudos) about anything, I agree that whatever I have said


correctly (orthôs) can also be discredited as unfair; but if I have spoken the truth (alêthê) but with

subtlety (lepta) and precision (akribê), then it is only fair that any hostility that results should be

directed not at me, the speaker, but at him (i.e. the boy) who acted” (3.4.2). Now, Antiphon, you may

recall, was suspect among the Athenians for his deinotês, and his defendant‟s case here would certainly

be seen as confirming this cleverness. From the beginning, therefore, the defendant takes pains to play

down his skill in argument. He apologizes ahead of time for the subtlety of his case. Clearly, he wants

to turn attention away from his speaking ability, and if he claimed that his logos was correct (orthos),

this would draw attention to the skill with which he constructed his case.

Protagoras, on the other hand, clearly did want to draw attention to the construction of arguments. He

taught how to argue different sides of a case and especially how to make “a weaker logos stronger.”

When several logoi could be constructed for a case, one could then try to decide which was orthotatos.

And the skill in speaking he promoted became perhaps the notorious aspect to the sophists‟ teaching.

In Plato‟s Protagoras, the young Hippocrates, when pressed to say what he thought Protagoras, as a

sophist, would teach him, answered, “the science of making a person clever at speaking” (312d). Thus,

orthos, as a standard of skillful speech, became closely associated with the new intellectualism of the

sophists, an association that the orators understandably wished to avoid.

That Protagoras developed a standard of correctness, not truth, is particularly interesting in light of the

fact that like Antiphon, he also wrote a work entitled Truth, the opening sentence of which was his

famous assertion that “man is the measure (metron) of all things.” We will never know the precise

meaning of this claim, or how Protagoras advised that things be measured, but the fact that there was a

measure that could somehow be applied to things suggests that Protagoras envisaged a quasi-objective

standard of truth, perhaps along the lines of the hedonistic calculus that Socrates develops in the last

part of Protagoras. And the idea that things could be quantified and measured, and that logos could

similarly be judged correct (as well as weak or strong) is reflected in the teachings offered to

Strepsiades when he enters Socrates‟ phrontistêrion in the Clouds.

The figure of Socrates in the Clouds certainly has some attributes of the historical Socrates, but he also

represents an amalgam of sophistic ideas and personal characteristics. In particular, the influence of

Protagoras is evident throughout. The phrontistêrion teaches, among other things, how to measure very

precisely -- the length of a flea‟s jump is one example -- and the correct genders of nouns, such as the

nouns for rooster and hen. If we make allowance for the element of parody, the play clearly implies

that the sophists‟ teachings emphasized objective and scientific measurement. Thus, Aristophanes is

tapping into the popular conception of sophistic teaching, and especially Protagorean teaching, as a

scientific measurement whose results (as he parodies them) range from trivial to absurd. And

straightness or correctness was part of this public perception of sophistic teaching. The word orthos

occurs eight times in the play, five times spoken by Socrates while he is teaching Strepsiades (228,

251, 659, 679, 742); once by the chorus of Clouds speaking to the audience in the parabasis (616),

once by Pheidippides showing off his new learning (1186), and once by Strepsiades, ironically

thanking Hermes of correct advice as he proceeds to burn down the phrontistêrion. Thus, orthos is

always connected with the new learning. By contrast, alêthês is used five times, four times by

Strepsiades when he is outside the context of the Thinking School, and once by the Chorus when they

pledge to the audience that they will tell the truth at the beginning of the parabasis.

This connection with the new learning would explain why Antiphon is wary of orthos language. Not

that he avoids it entirely. In fact, in the Tetralogies orthos is slightly more common than alêthês (15

occurrences versus 13). These works contain a good bit of what I have called metadiscourse --


discussion of the nature and validity of various arguments and of the verdict, which is commonly

characterized as correct or not. But in Antiphon‟s three court speeches there are only 21 occurrences of

orthos (which is proportionally fewer than in the much shorter Tetralogies), and a large majority of

these come at the beginning and end of the speeches. In Antiphon 5, for example, orthos occurs twelve

times -- twice in the prologue (1-7), six times in the epilogue (85-96) and only four times in the body

of the speech. By comparison, alêthês occurs thirty-five times in this speech, mostly in the central

arguments, and is common in Antiphon 1 and 6 too. Finally, in all the works, orthos most often

qualifies speech, sometimes the verdict and occasionally a plan or a law. But twice it is used of acting

correctly (orthôs prattein), both times when correct action is being contrasted with correct speech (5.5,

5.75). The pattern in Andocides is similar. Orthos occurs seven times in the three genuine speeches,

always in the realm of logos, whereas alêthês occurs nineteen times, all but one of them in his speech

On the Mysteries. In both orators, moreover, and in other texts of the period, to assert that an argument

is correct normally implies that its content is true, and vice versa. But the connotations of the two

standards remained different. The orators had to be sensitive to these, and so they used orthos only

sparingly.

Protagoras, on the other hand, made orthotês the primary standard for many different areas of inquiry

concerning logos. We have already seen his use of orthos in discussions of gender and syntax, poetic

criticism, and legal argumentation. It is also quite possible that he contributed to (or perhaps even

originated) the fifth-century debate about the origin of names -- whether words have a natural origin or

a conventional origin -- and that orthotês had a place in this discussion too. As the debate is presented

in Plato‟s Cratylus, it clearly has Protagorean roots, since Hermogenes‟ position that names are

conventional contains clear echoes of Protagoras and is explicitly connected with Protagoras‟ man-

measure declaration. This is not to say that Protagoras ever argued that “whatever each person says is

the name of something, for him, that is its name,” as Plato reports Hermogenes saying in Cratylus 385d

(a clear echo of Protagoras), but he may perhaps have proposed something along the lines that the

meanings of words have their origin in the community that uses them and whatever meaning a

community gives to a word is that word‟s correct meaning.

But the most reliable sources for Protagoras‟ work in these areas suggest that he was best known for

making highly provocative observations, aimed at stimulating others to question traditional views.

Assertions such as that Homer made grammatical mistakes, that Simonides contradicted himself, or

that the javelin itself could have been responsible for someone‟s accidental death, may have been in

large part heuristic, intended to lead to further thinking about correctness in these and related areas. It

is possible, therefore, that Protagoras did not develop his own views on any of these matters, and that

whatever he said about the origin of names took the form of provocative observations, for example that

different people use different words for the same thing or the same word for different things, to which

he may have added comments on correctness, for example that Homer was wrong to call something X

because its true name is Y.

Barring the discovery of Protagoras‟ actual works, we will never be able to ascertain whether he

developed positive views on correct logos, but we can be quite certain that he raised the question of

correctness in these areas, and was the first to discuss explicitly the issue of rules or standards in

language. And by choosing orthos as the primary descriptive for correct logos, and by exploiting the

broad range of objective and subjective meanings of this word, he established a basis for the scientific

study of both grammar and rhetoric. For by posing questions about the correct rules of argument in the

same terms as he questioned the correct rules of gender, Protagoras suggested that both areas were

subjects for similar intellectual discussion and scientific study. In raising these issues, Protagoras


directed his audience‟s attention not to what is really the case, but rather to what is correctly said or

thought to be the case. This shift allowed him to adopt a subjective position but give it the appearance

of objectivity that was probably very effective in stimulating debate. The orators, not surprisingly,

were wary of relying on this slippery notion of correctness and put greater emphasis on truth as the

standard of judging the facts of the case.

Socrates in Aristotle's Metaphysics

http://www.abu.nb.ca/Courses/GrPhil/Socrates.htm

Induction stands in contrast this with deductive reasoning, which is the reverse procedure: the reasoning from the general to the specific. Instead of reasoning from particulars by means of abstraction to a general conclusion, one reasons from the general (a major premise) to the specific; that is, one subsumes a less general category under a more general category, and understands the former as an instance of the latter (a species belonging to a genus). In deductive reasoning, one already knows the essence (ti estin) of a collection of things, what they all share in common, and this serves as the major premise in the syllogism. So you may reason: 1. Paper burns; 2. A file folder is made of paper; 3. Therefore, a file folder burns. To use more proper terminology, the above is an example of a categorical syllogism: the major premise states that something is true about a class or genus (the essence of that class), the minor premise identifies something as a member of that class or genus and the conclusion is the attribution of what is true about the class or genus to that which is identified as belonging to that class or genus. Thus file folders are identified as belonging to the class or genus of things made of paper, so that what is true of the latter is necessarily true of the former: file folders are combustible.

Now the question that arises is whether there is anything about the Platonic Socrates that resembles Aristotle's depiction of one who reasoned inductively? The impression that one receives from the Socrates of Plato's dialogues is of someone who asks many questions on the pretense of ignorance (Socratic irony). He asks questions in order to come to an understanding of something (e.g.'s, the nature of piety, knowledge, courage, temperance, justice, etc.). When he receives an answer to a question, Socrates usually commends his interlocutor (ironically), and then asks for clarification of a few points; in other words, he asks further questions that arise from the answer to the previous question. This process continues until Socrates' interlocutor either admits his ignorance of the subject, contrary to his original claim, or becomes extremely annoyed with Socrates and cuts short the dialectical process. This method of inquiry is known as the dialectical method: the asking of a series of interlocking and progressive questions.

What Aristotle describes as induction seems to be this dialectical method. Socrates' dialectical method is inductive reasoning, insofar as he begins with a question about the essence of something and tries to organize the experiential data as an answer to that question; in other words, he tries to abstract general truths from experience. His aim is to define something, to understand and state its essence (ti estin); in so doing, he answers the original question. So, for example, Socrates notices that people speak about the beautiful,

http://www.abu.nb.ca/Courses/GrPhil/Socrates.htm


and seeks to understand what beauty is (Symposium); from all data pertaining to beauty derived from his questioning, he attempts to determine what beauty is, what all beautiful things have in common so that they all can be called beautiful.

THE TEACHER AS MIDWIFE

One of the classic metaphors for the teacher is to be found in this short section from Plato's Theaetetus

(148e-151d, translated by F. N. Cornford). Socrates is questioning the young man Theaetetus about

what constitutes "knowledge." Theaetetus is not certain he can provide sensible answers. The dialogue

is set in the year 299 B.C., it was probably written about 257 B.C.

THEAETETUS: But I assure you Socrates, I have often set myself to study (the problem of defining

knowledge) when I heard reports of the questions you ask. But I cannot persuade myself that I can give

any satisfactory solution or that anyone has ever stated in my hearing the sort of answer you require.

And yet I cannot get the question out of my mind.

SOCRATES: My dear Theaetetus, that is because your mind is not empty or barren. You are suffering

the pains of travail.

THEAETETUS: I don't know about that, Socrates. I am only telling you how I feel.

SOCRATES: How absurd of you, never to have heard that I am the son of a midwife, a fine buxom

woman called Phaenarete!

THEAETETUS: I have heard that.

SOCRATES: Have you also been told that I practice the same art?

THEAETETUS: No, never.

SOCRATES: It is true, though, only don't give away my secret. It is not known that I possess this skill;

so the ignorant world describes me in other terms as an eccentric person who reduces people to

hopeless perplexity. Have you been told that too?

THEAETETUS: I have.

SOCRATES: Shall I tell you the reason?

THEAETETUS: Please do.

SOCRATES: Consider, then, how it is with all midwives; that will help you to understand what I

mean. I dare say you know that they never attend other women in childbirth so long as they themselves

can conceive and bear children, but only when they are too old for that.

THEAETETUS: Of course.


SOCRATES: They say that is because Artemis, the patroness of childbirth, is herself childless, and so,

while she did not allow barren women to be midwives, because it is beyond the power of human nature

to achieve skill without any experience, she assigned the privilege to women who were past

childbearing, out of respect to their likeness to herself.

THEAETETUS: That sounds likely.

SOCRATES: And it is more likely, is it not, that no one can tell so well as a midwife whether women

are pregnant or not?

THEAETETUS: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: Moreover, with the drugs and incantations they administer, midwifes can either bring on

the pains of travail or allay them at their will, make a difficult labor easy and at an early stage cause

miscarriage if they so decide.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Have you also observed that they are the cleverest matchmakers, having an unerring skill

in selecting a pair whose marriage will produce the best children?

THEAETETUS: I was not aware of that.

SOCRATES: Well, you may be sure they pride themselves on that more than on cutting the umbilical

cord. Consider the knowledge of the sort of plant of seed that should be sown in any given soul. Does

not that go together with skill in tending and harvesting the fruits of the earth? They are not two

different arts?

THEAETETUS: No, the same.

SOCRATES: And so with a woman; skill in the sowing is not be separated from skill in the

harvesting?

THEAETETUS: Probably not.

SOCRATES: No. Only because there is that wrong and ignorant way of bringing together man and

woman which they call pandering, midwives, out of self-respect, are shy even of matchmaking, for

fear of falling under the accusation of pandering. Yet the genuine midwife is the only successful

matchmaker.

THEAETETUS: That is clear.

SOCRATES: All this, then lies within the midwife's province, but her performance falls short of mine.

It is not the way of women sometimes to bring forth real children, sometimes mere phantoms, such that

it is hard to tell the one from the other. If it were so, the highest and noblest task of the midwife would

be to discern the real from the unreal, would it not?


THEAETETUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: My art of midwifery is in general like theirs; the only difference is that my patients are

men, not women, and my concern is not with the body but with the soul that is in travail of birth. And

the highest point of my art is the power to prove by every test whether the offspring of a young man's

thought is a false phantom, or instinct with life and truth. I am so far like the midwife that I cannot

myself give birth to wisdom, and the common reproach is true, that, though I question others, I can

myself bring nothing to light because there is no wisdom in me.

The reason is this. Heaven constrains me to serve as a midwife, but has debarred me from giving birth.

So of myself I have no sort of wisdom, nor has any discovery ever been born to me as the child

unintelligent, but, as we go further with our discussions, all who are favored by heaven make progress

at a rate that seems surprising to others as well as to themselves, although it is clear that they have

never learned anything from me. The many admirable truths they bring to birth have been discovered

by themselves from within. But the delivery is heaven's work and mine.

The proof of this is that many who have not been conscious of my assistance but have made light of

me, thinking it was all their own doing, have left me sooner than they should, whether under others'

influence or of their own motion, and thenceforward suffered miscarriage of their thoughts through

falling into bad company, and they have lost the children of whom I had delivered them by bringing

them up badly, caring more for false phantoms than for the true. And so at last their lack of

understanding has become apparent to themselves and to everyone else. Such a one was Aristides, son

of Lysimachus, and there have been many more. When they come back and beg for a renewal of our

intercourse with extravagant protestations, sometimes the divine warning that comes to me forbids it;

with others it is permitted, and these begin again to make progress.

In yet another way those who seek my company have the same experience as a woman with child; they

suffer the pains of labor and, by night and day, are full of distress far greater than a woman's, and my

art has power to bring on those pangs or to allay them. So it fares with these, but there are some,

Theaetetus, whose minds, as I judge, have never conceived at all. I see that they have no need of me

and with all good will I seek a match for them. Without boasting unduly I can guess pretty well whose

society will profit them. I have arranged many of these matches with Prodicus, and with other men of

inspired sagacity.

And now for the upshot of this long discourse of mine. I suspect that, as you yourself believe, your

mind is in labor with some thought it has conceived. Accept then, the ministration of a midwife's son

who himself practices his mother's art, and do the best you can to answer the questions I ask. Perhaps

when I examine your statements I may judge one or another of them to be an unreal phantom.

If I then take the abortion from you and cast it away, do not be savage with me like a woman robbed of

her first child. People have often felt like that toward me and been positively ready to bite me for

taking away some foolish notion they have conceived. They do not see that I am doing them a

kindness. They have not learned that no divinity is ever ill-disposed toward man, nor is such action on

my part due to unkindness; it is only that I am not permitted to acquiesce in falsehood and suppress the

truth.


So, Theaetetus, start again and try to explain what knowledge is. Never say it is beyond your power; it

will not be so, if heaven wills and you take courage.

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